Rehearsal/warm up starts at 9:30 in a friend’s theater in Lavaur. Then, we set up in front of the Halle aux Grains around 11:30. Showtime at noon. The carnaval goes on until late tonight. Someone’s bound to come back to this town in the afternoon. Other events to cover, plus a friend came by yesterday afternoon. We sat in the garden, drank pomegranate syrup mixed with water, talked about life, kids, her projects; she invited me to a bring-your-own-music party at her house tonight. After which I’ll collapse and continue with story.
How to say it. How to get the fucking thing across. The game is stacked against – how to call it? Laughter, light-heartedness? Attention to the light in the trees, the sounds of life? As if affliction carried some special VIP status. As if, through the ages, staying riveted to the horrors had shown some evidence of yielding a change for the better. Ingrained? maybe; if so, more’s the reason to say thanks, I’ll try something else.
Dis-continuity, for example. All the talk about orderly progressions, cause leading to effect, etc? Illusion. Without a gap to bridge, not a single impulse makes it from one neuron to another.
Getting it right. The point isn’t in denying the obvious. The point is what you choose to honor i.e. where you put your attention i.e. how you deal with the undertows i.e. how you break free from them. Nope, I don’t have a recipe; if I did, how could I try to write something I’ve never written before?